


Gravity

by ReaWrite



Series: Stargazing [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Guilt, Hair Pulling, Masochist reader, Minor Injuries, Pain Infliction, Reader Is Not Frisk, Sadist Sans, Self-Harm, Third Person POV, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5945434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaWrite/pseuds/ReaWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>gravity, n. the natural force of attraction to a celestial body.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A human scientist once said that we are all made of star stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Addendum to [Celestial](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5894611); recommend reading first.

It’s Sunday, which is Puzzle Recalibration Day. Even though there’s no real necessary for it anymore, it’s a hard tradition for Papyrus to break, especially now that they have a human friend who's always around to test them out.

Much to her chagrin.

Sans is putting up the finishing touches on a freshly made Snow Sans when he hears her cries of frustration from above. He barely has the time to look up before she’s slipped off the edge of the ice puzzle and is falling down below, screaming. He steps out of the way.

_Splat_.

She lands right in the Snow Sans in a tangle of flailing limbs and slush.

“wow. i can’t believe you’d just ruin all my hard work like that.”

She’s waist-deep in said ‘hard work,’ which was really just a large snow poff with his name written on it in red marker. Shaking the snow off her head, she blows a strand of hair from her face and throws him a stink-eye. Her cheeks and lips are red from the cold. His grin only falters for less than a moment before immediately righting itself.

Which then just grows wider when she starts trying to push herself out of the mound but to no avail. She struggles for a while, wriggling and grunting with all her might before flopping her upper half against the snow.

“you seem frustrated about something.”

“A little help, here?!”

Sans chuckles, tucking his hands in his hoodie pouch. “but you look like you're having _snow_ much fun.”

She grumbles loudly, twisting herself to and fro which only seems to suck her body deeper into the trap. “I know you just love watching me suffer, but seriously, I think my boot got caught in a root underneath the snow and I can't move.” Grunt, huff. “Did you build this over a pitfall or something?!”

The corner of Sans’ grin twitches at that first comment, but she holds out an outstretched hand in expectation before he has time to over analyze it and inwardly panic.

Because oh, if only she knew just how true that statement really was.

“dunno. maybe papyrus did.” He steps closer and lets her reach for his hand as she tries pulling herself out. “really _caught_ you by surprise, huh?” He winks.

She gives him a flat look. Then her face cringes in exertion as she resumes her struggle. Cheeks red, brows furrowed, a dot of sweat at her temple--his grip on her hand involuntarily tightens for a moment.

“Where is Papyrus, anyway?”

“he went on ahead to prepare the big finale on the bridge.”

Her head leans forward as she releases a long dragged out groan of exasperation and it takes every goddamn ounce of his self control not to visibly react. “Ugh, all right. Okay. Let’s just get this over with.” She glances up, squeezes his hand. “Could you… maybe help pull me out? Just a quick hard yank in one go?”

His forced grin is so wide and strained that he probably looks every bit like the demented sadist he’s been trying to hide.

“sure thing, kid. hold tight.”

She reaches out her other hand and holds on with both as Sans anchors himself. His eyes close, concentrating, before opening back up with a small aura of blue in one socket.

He sees her abruptly still upon noticing his appearance, and for a fleeting moment their eyes lock on each other, both silent.

He pulls.

It takes only one attempt to drag the human woman out of the snow mound and free her, but then she immediately cries out in pain and curls in on her leg. Alarmed, Sans dissipates the magic as he crouches down by her side. “hey, buddy, you okay?”

It’s the foot that caught her beneath the snow in the first place. Nothing serious, just strained the muscle a little bit when he pulled her out too quickly. She winces when she tries putting weight on it.

Looks like there won’t be a grand finale to this week’s Puzzle Recalibration. Sans wraps her arm over his shoulder and lets her lean on him in support as he slowly leads her away from the ruined Snow Sans.

“Where’re we going?”

“my place. you should rest.” He throws her a playful wink. “come on. i know a shortcut.”

* * *

It’s only after bringing her back home, carefully settling her down on the couch, and letting her know he was going to go get a cold compress that Sans finally allows himself to start clawing at his own face in the privacy of his kitchen, feeling a tortuous mix of mortification and arousal.

But instead of bottling up every thought before they can be formed and forcefully swallowing them down, he lets them flow. He allows himself just this one window of opportunity to think about the way her expression contorted in pain, the small whimpers escaping her lips as they hobbled back, the light swelling in her foot when they first inspected it moments ago, before he’ll close that door and never reflect on it again.

He’s blinded because it’s the most goddamn beautiful thing he’s ever seen and _he caused her to look like that_. It won’t leave a mark, won’t carve his name into the stars, but the fact alone sends him reeling, eyes appearing to roll into the back of his head as he lets out a shaking breath.

“i’m so fucked,” he whispers.

Once he's gathered his bearings Sans quickly throws together a cold compress and returns to the living room. She has her leg stretched out on the cushions, pursing cherry red lips as she prods around a certain spot.

“Hey, um, do you have any tweezers?”

He hands her the compress. “nope.”

Flat stare. “So you have a comb but no tweezers.”

“exactly, because i dunno if you noticed but my eyelashes are the epitome of perfection.”

She grumbles and gently holds the ice pack to her foot, wincing slightly. “Well, the reason I ask is that the root from earlier gave me the splinter from hell, and I can't get it out with just my fingers.” She lifts the compress and points to the area above her foot, where a small line lay embedded in the skin.

Sans whistles lowly. “just not your day, huh, kid.” He then makes a gesture with his hand, tapping his index finger to his thumb in a pinching motion. “want me to try gettin’ it out for ya?”

She studies his hand carefully, hesitating. His phalanges are harder and thinner than human fingers, could probably do a better job digging it out.

There’s a moment where their eyes meet again.

She glances down and fiddles idly with the compress. “Um… yeah, sure.”

Nodding, Sans kneels before her leg and examines it more closely. It’s a small little thing, but it's sticking out just enough that he should be able to catch a grip on it. Simple.

Now he just.

Has to.

Pinch the skin.

And pull it out.

… Any fucking day now.

Taking in a slow breath, Sans gently touches her skin and lightly brushes his thumb over the splinter. He feels her muscles flinch. Any real friend would have withdrawn and apologized but god, he wants to do that _again_. And he wants to _see_ her expression when he does it.

Mentally suffocating the impulse, he carefully pinches his fingers around the fragment.

There is something wild and disgusting inside of him.

_(He could dig them in hard enough to draw blood if he wanted. He could grab her by the ankle so tight it’d leave the print of his hand. He could paint the pictures of her constellation skin with his teeth.)_

_(It would be so fucking easy.)_

He pulls it out with a sudden jerk.

He hears her hiss in a sharp intake, and only then does he realize how heavy he’s breathing. Flicking the speck away, he turns to her--but then any words he could have said immediately die at the sight of her.

Her breathing has also deepened, her eyes half-lidded and dilated as she meets his. Her face is red like that time at Grillby’s, fully flushed from cheek to cheek. She’s wearing her supernova blush.

It takes everything in him to swallow his groan.

“uh.” Sans stands up too quickly and ends up stumbling a little, his own cheeks lighting in a fluorescent blue as he begins to sputter. He needs to get out. “well, now that's taken care of, i should--uh.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “go tell papyrus where you are. since he's probably still waiting. at the bridge. so.”

She simply stares at him for a moment with that dazed look on her face before slowly nodding. Shifting, she curls her knees to her chest and presses the ice pack to her foot again, eyes downcast.

As Sans nearly trips over his own feet to leave as soon as possible, he hears her mutter a quiet “thanks” underneath her breath before the door closes behind him.

Once outside, he slumps his back against the wooden barrier in a position that's cruelly familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

Scanning her surroundings periodically, she tucks her hands close to her side as she makes her way through Snowdin. Some monsters smile politely; but more importantly no one tags along with her as she exits the town and finds her destination.

She stands alone before the trunk a thick black tree, of which species she is unable to name. Her hand twitches as it rests at her side, a glint of something unknown twinkling in her eye. Determination?

Steps closer, takes a breath. Relaxes her fist. Grounding herself, she grits her teeth and rears her arm back.

_SLAP_.

 

* * *

 

Sans stares at her in disbelief. “seriously?”

Holding her palm out for display, the human chuckles self-deprecatingly. They’re at one of his sentry stations over near Snowdin, with Sans sleepily leaning his head against an arm propped on the counter and her standing before him on the other side. Both of them are studying the large black fragment almost completely embedded in her skin underneath her thumb. The area around the protrusion is red, slightly swollen.

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“let me guess. fetch with lesser dog again?”

“Yup.” The word stretches, her lips popping at the end.

Sans raises a brow at her. “this is, what, the third time that’s happened now? kid, you might wanna consider throwin’ something else for him instead of a stick.”

“I know,” she says, “I know. I’ll figure something out later. But right now, can you…?” She glances down to her hand, then back up to him, pleading in her eyes.

He mirrors her line of sight, glancing at her briefly before averting the white irises. He sighs, hesitates. “don’t see why it… needs to be me every time,” he mutters, shifting in his seat to cover the lower half of his face with his hand.

“You’re just always the closest around to help, that’s all!” she blurts, turning red. “This station is nearby the part of the forest Lesser Dog likes to play fetch and it’d take more time to backtrack all the way to Snowdin to ask for Papyrus’s help instead and I still can’t get them out on my own so that's why!” The explanation tumbles from her lips much less naturally than when she had recited it in her head. She bites her lip.

He releases a breath that could pass as a chuckle. “not quite sure i caught all that, but all right, bud. here.” He reaches out and gently cups the back of her hand, drawing it for closer inspection. Chill bumps sprinkle her skin at the sensation. Sans takes a moment rolling the heel of her palm with his thumbs in circular motions, studying the foreign object and determining the best way to remove it before making his move.

Whistles lowly. That seems to be his universal sign for ‘that looks like it hurts like hell but i can’t actually empathize since i don’t have skin’ lately. “that, uh. that prick’s in there pretty damn deep, kid.”

He visibly winces at how _wrong_ that came out, while she blushes to the roots of her hair.

“i mean--” He makes a sound like clearing his throat into a fist. “i could probably remove it quickly, just one tug. here…”

“No, wait!” She pulls her hand back. “It might… break off into a smaller piece if you do that, so you should… do it slowly?” Her voice pitches into a squeak by the end.

Sans just looks at her for a moment. She holds his gaze, her smile strained.

“uh. sure.”

He takes her hand when she offers it again.

 

* * *

 

 

When she’s back in the privacy of her room later that day, the giddiness and guilt set in to whiplash at her back and forth. She runs a thumb over the reddened skin, releasing a pleasant sigh at the tingle, only for the sound to end wistfully as she drops her head low in shame.

So she had weird reactions to feeling pain. While kind of strange, that wasn't anything new to her. It was something she’d noticed about herself as long as she could remember; it was never bad enough to cause her alarm.

At least, until recently.

The guilt sets in again after making another brush over the red area. She throws her head back against the pillow on her bed, silently vowing to herself--once again--not to do anything stupid like that anymore.

Suffice to say, she has a bad track record of keeping promises.

Sighing, she toys around with the skin, shivering at the memory of sharp bone digging into her hand.

She doesn’t know why it's like this. Ever since the incident when he grasped her wrist at Grillby’s, she started off with a simple curiosity on how she could recreate that exhilarating rush she felt whenever Sans had accidentally hurt her. She pinched herself, nothing; she twisted her leg beyond comfort, nothing; hell, even having a mishap with Papyrus while cooking together that ended in a bloody finger failed to incite that peculiar sensation.

But then one day while walking together she slipped on a patch of ice and Sans reached out and caught her by the arm in an awkward bend, and there it was. She felt weightless in the endorphin rush, heart pounding and lashes fluttering as her voice released a crude noise that could just narrowly pass as displeasure. It clearly brought much concern to Sans; she remembered the way he’d sucked in a sharp breath and immediately released her arm for her to fall on her rump. She only barely had enough time to conceal herself as he then carefully helped her back to her feet, his voice wavering slightly as he asked if she was okay. The noise she made sounded like it had hurt.

It did.

And once it became clear that Sans’ presence was what made the difference in whether or not she enjoyed pain, she gradually began to lose control over her impulses. Desperately, she tried reeling them in, attempting many more times to recreate those feelings on her own. But it made no difference. She just wanted so badly to feel it again. There was no way she could bring herself to ask him if he could hurt her on purpose, though, which left her escalating to her current position. Falling on purpose, jamming bark into her skin, burning her hands so he'd apply stinging ointment; using him for a sick thrill, and then feeling weird and creepy once the brief high fizzles out.

She's so fucked.

From its place on the pillow next to her head, the phone vibrates. Speak of the devil. “ _grillby’s?_ ” the text reads.

She wonders what would happen if she ever spilled ketchup on herself again.

“ _Be there in a few. Save me a seat?_ ”

 

* * *

 

Sans is sitting in his usual spot at the bar when she enters the warmth of the restaurant. There’s already a meal set out in the space next to him: a classic burg’ and soda. She slips into her seat, waving to Grillby after greeting Sans, and immediately starts to dig in.

“so.” Sans glances at her from the corner of his eye, before closing them. The edge of the glass taps against his teeth as he muses. “had an interesting conversation with lesser dog earlier.”

She chokes on her burger and has a coughing fit.

_Fuck_.

Dread washes over her as she beats a fist over her chest, wheezing. Sans says nothing, continuing to glance at her from the side. He pushes her drink closer to her.

_Fuck_. _Fuck_. She's filled with a silent panic as she chugs down her soda, mentally grasping at straws on how to respond next. Sure, she could play dumb, but she figures any hope of validity flew out the window with her reaction to hearing those words alone just now. No, she's given herself away already.

“Y-yeah?”

She's apparently desperate enough to try anyway.

“yeah,” Sans continues. He props an elbow on the counter and leans his chin against it. “crossed paths in front of the town. thought i’d let him know he needed to ease up on demanding so much attention from ya. now i know he ain't the brightest of the canine unit, but imagine my surprise when he had no idea what i was talkin’ about. in fact, it looked more like he hadn't seen ya around hardly at all the last few days.”

_You idiot_ , she berates herself. _Idiot. Stupid. Creep._ She should have made a better excuse than that, at least after the first time.

No, better yet, she never should have done it in the first place.

She doesn't respond to him; she's thoroughly busted. Face lit with shame and guilt, she picks at the bun of her burger. Not very hungry anymore. Wishes she could sink right into the chair and disappear.

“so, y’know,” Sans shrugs, reaches around to scratch his non existent ass, “i think he’d really appreciate it if ya went to hang out with him a bit sometime. he seemed to miss seeing you around.”

When he says nothing more, she chances a small glance at him. “You're not… gonna ask why I've been lying?”

Another shrug. “i mean, i won't say i’m not curious, but i ain't into prying. not my thing. that being said…”

There's a clicking sound, and the surrounding world abruptly goes dark. The din of chattering patrons falls into silence; she feels awkwardly put on the spot.

As always Sans is just sitting there, grinning.

**“I don't appreciate being lied to.”**

She feels her sins crawling on her back. And it's then when she finally gathers the courage to do the right thing.

“I'm sorry,” she blurts, hands tightening into fists on her lap. “I'm really, really sorry. I'll… I'll explain everything. Okay? I won't be dishonest anymore.” Her stomach drops with the declaration, as she's most definitely just sealed her fate; he will certainly find her weird and creepy, maybe even gross. Sure, she could try making up another story instead of the truth, but--

“like i said, kid,” he sighs, “i don't pry. you're not obligated to tell me what's up. just know that you should probably, uh, cut it out with the lying. immediately.”

Shakes her head. “No, I need to be honest with you,” she insists. “If I don't, then there wouldn't be many reasons to trust me in the future, right?” Then what would their friendship even be, if it still existed? He could find her repulsive, but he shouldn't have to feel constantly suspicious of her.

Okay, maybe her imagination’s going a little overboard with this, but damn it if she doesn't feel absolutely shitty right now.

Shifting, Sans finally turns to look at her. There's a brief pause, uncertain tension in the air. She can't make out his expression, but at least he doesn't seem mad. “... all right, then. i’m listening.”

The moment of truth. She finds herself swallowing thickly, mentally trying to calm her rapid heart and sweating palms. Her lips part, but then she catches eye of the patrons and bartender still frozen in their darkened surroundings. Her throat dries, and she can feel her face heating like an explosion. Throwing a wide eyed look to Sans, she doesn't catch the intrigue in his expression focused on her cheeks.

“B-But can I tell you later? Please? I know no one can overhear like this but--” She squirms uncomfortably, inexplicably feeling far too exposed in the setting. “Could we talk later in private? Please, it's... really embarrassing…”

To her overwhelming relief, he takes her request in consideration with little thought.

“sure thing, kid, whenever you want. it's up to you.”

Another click sounds and time resumes just as abruptly as it had stopped. Grillby’s body heat wafts over her and the conversations and laughter resume in the air.

When Sans glances at her, she can tell his permanent grin is more genuine than it's been the last few minutes.

“in the meantime, why don't we enjoy some of the best food in snowdin?”

 

* * *

 

Despite the awkward start, she’s pleased when they’re able to fall back to the normality of their nightly meals at Grillby’s with comforting ease. They exchange jokes, share small talk with the other locals, and her food rests easy in her stomach. For a while, she manages to forget to be stressed out of her wits.

But then Sans slides down from his stool with a wave to Grillby to put the expenses on his tab, waiting for her to join him as he tucks his hands in his pockets. “so,” he starts, “house should be empty right now, if you still wanna finish our conversation from earlier.”

She could turn him down and say maybe later or even back out of telling him completely, and she knows he would be chill about it. But she nods and says “sure” as she follows after him, resigned.

The skeleton brothers’ flat is silent, just as Sans said it would be; Papyrus must be having his cooking lesson with Undyne right about now. She stands awkwardly in the doorway as Sans turns on the lights, unsure how to segue back to what she was here to talk about without being clumsy about it.

Oh well, if he ends up never wanting to hang out with her again, she supposes there's no point in trying to be smooth. Hanging on to every last ounce of courage, she holds her head high and makes her way over to the couch, sinking down into the plush cushion and plopping her hands in her lap. Her heart is going haywire.

Sans draws closer to her, standing before her instead of taking the seat next to her. Neither have spoken since they arrived, and he appears to be hesitating, waiting for her to break the silence first.

Deep breath. “Okay, so… as you know already I've been lying to you about hanging out with Lesser Dog.”

“yup.”

Time to rip off the band-aid. “But the thing is, that's not the only thing I've lied about.” She winces. Almost immediately her strong posture melts underneath her guilt, head hanging low and unable to look him in the eye. “I haven't actually been getting more clumsy lately; I've been tripping myself on purpose. That time I burnt my hands cooking, it wasn't an accident. The splinters aren't from throwing sticks around; I've been putting them in myself.”

Sans is still, patient as she lists her confessions. She doesn't know how to feel about his lack of a reaction, and when she chances a quick glance she finds that his eye sockets have blacked out.

“… why?” he asks quietly, despite his previous reassurances that he wouldn't pry for answers. Now it's clear he can't hold back the desire to know just what the fuck is wrong with her.

Her eyes fall back to the hands in her lap. “Because I like it when you help me,” she murmurs. “I… I can't explain it, but I _like_ it.” She shrugs in self deprecation. “For the endorphin rush? Maybe? But it doesn't feel like that whenever I do it or some else does. It's just you. I couldn't bring myself to just _ask_ you, though. So instead I've been manipulating you to get you to hurt me on purpose. And… yeah.”

You know how people say you feel better after telling the truth and getting it off your shoulders? It's not working. Explaining it out loud just drives it in deeper how creepy her actions were.

They're silent for a long time. It's almost torture, waiting for him to respond. Does he want her to keep going? Confess more sins? Try and make excuses?

Finally, she hears him speak. “this ain't a… you're not pullin’ my leg here?”

Her lips pull into a frown. “Do you really think I'd say all that as some kind of joke?”

Sans grimaces, and slides down to sit on the coffee table in front of her. “no. no, sorry, i just…”

For some reason, he's starting to look nervous, too. Now it's him who can't meet her eyes, stuffing his hands in his hoodie and fidgeting in the pockets, before pulling one out and covering the lower half of his face.

“… Um--”

“for the purpose of full disclosure,” he begins, “i should, uh… probably tell you i haven't been completely honest myself, either. though it's more of a lie by omission.”

This isn't going where she thought it would. She can only bring herself to blink owlishly at him. “… I'm listening,” she says slowly, mimicking his earlier words.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a half-smile at the jape, before falling back a second later. His voice is gravelly, quiet. “maybe the truth is i like helpin’ ya out, too, kid.”

Once it's out, he finally looks her in the eye, freezing her on the spot. Their gazes lock onto one another as she slowly begins to process what was just implied. When she doesn't say anything, he frowns.

“… that's, uh, your cue to _run_.”

Immediately she's jolted out of her brief stupor. “Wait, what? Why?” she asks dumbly.

Sans laughs, because the only thing he can even do in this situation is laugh at the absurdity of it all. “perhaps i should spell it out better for ya: i just admitted **I like hurting you**.”

“I just admitted I like you hurting me first?” Hold on, are they really having this conversation? Is he the one joking now? Maybe she would have thought so earlier, but he looks just as embarrassed and ashamed as she did not even two minutes ago. He wouldn't joke about this kind of thing, either.

“that's not the same thing, buddy,” he growls, looking at her with new eyes like he's going over and replaying every memory of her in his mind, now with the added knowledge of her secret.

“Maybe not the exact same, but… come on, Sans, you're a scientist. You can do the math,” she says, her voice slowly strengthening in confidence. “Isn’t this a good thing? There's no reason I should run.”

“i’ve hurt humans before, you know.” He looks at her levelly. “badly.”

“Did you like it then, too?”

Sans falters. “… no,” he admits, “not like this.”

She continues pressing. “What's different about this?”

“i don't hurt _friends_ ,” he says, shifting in his seat. “and i don't want to kill you. it's never been about taking your soul.”

“Well, I'm glad for that at least.” She chuckles, pleased he can find it in himself to smile, too. “But seriously, Sans. Listen. We've clearly been beating ourselves up over this, but at the very least we don't have to anymore. In fact…” Sitting up straight, she scoots closer, emboldened. “I think this can become something mutually beneficial for the both of us--if you're interested.”

Oh, he's interested--she can tell in the way he stills, eyes marginally widening as he registers the proposition she just made. But even then, he sounds quiet, uncertain. “are you sure you'd want that kind of thing?”

Instead of answering, she slowly lifts her wrist, extending and holding it out before him in invitation. He sucks in an almost indecipherable breath.

“I'm not asking you to break my legs or dislocate my bones,” she soothes. “Just the little things like before. Only now without me having to make up excuses to get you to do it.”

That earns a short laugh from him, and he finally starts to let himself relax for the first time since they came back home. “i can't believe you're asking me to do this.” He gently takes her hand in his, almost caressing with his phalanges. “i can't believe you're _letting_ me do this.”

She laughs with him. “And I can't believe you were giving me so much flak for lying when you were hiding such a big secret yourself, you bonehead.”

“i was frustrated!” he shoots back. “do you have any idea what your constant need for help did to me? ya practically _tortured_ me.” He grumbles, rolling his thumbs idly along her wrist. “can't blame me for gettin’ just a little bit pissed.”

“… I'm sorry.”

He pauses, sighs. “… nah. me too. don't worry about it, kid.”

She nods, watching Sans’ jointed hands on hers with rapt attention. He hasn't done anything to cause pain yet; he actually appears to be taking his sweet time exploring, tracing the lines in her palm down to the blue rivers of her veins. It sends small tingles down her arm, chill bumps rising as she lets herself sink into the moment. She thought he would have done something by now, but he doesn't look like he's having second guesses, either.

He simply studies her, eyes dimmed and almost reverent in the way he handles her so carefully.

And her heart is thumping again, breathing wavered as the anticipation hums in her ears. Briefly, she wonders if he's doing it on purpose, leaving her quite literally on the edge of her seat.

She almost doesn't catch the awed “pretty” Sans murmurs before he angles the tip of his thumb against the center of her wrist, and presses down sharply.

Her breath immediately hitches, fingers twitching as the shivers run up and down her spine. It's almost Pavlovian, the way a small guilt bubbles up her throat, but now she easily swallows it down. There's no need for that feeling, anymore.

In fact, the knowledge that Sans is doing this because he enjoys it too makes the rush even better than before. It's not just the pain, this time; it’s that _look_ in his eye as he drinks her in, the slow breaths in his chest, the imperceptible shiver of bone against skin. He wasn't lying. This _thrills_ him.

Oh, god.

“You can… go harder, if you want,” she suggests, cheeks reddening. “I'm not glass.”

He glances to meet her gaze, blinking, his own cheekbones developing a smattering of light blue. Then a grin slowly stretches across his face, the light pinpricks of his eyes able to communicate so much without a single word.

It leaves her feeling weak. She returns his smirk with a smile of her own, and in that moment she can take a pretty good guess at what's going through his mind.

This friendship is about to become very interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Sans.”

“hm.”

“TRUST FALL!”

_Fwump_.

Slowing to a halt, Sans turns around and lifts a bone brow at the human splayed out in the snow. She blinks back up at him, cheeks red from both the chill and embarrassment, and frowns.

“You were supposed to catch me!”

“uh. sorry?”

Sitting up, she brushes clumps of the thick white snow off her arms and shoulders, shaking out her hair. “Do you not know what a trust fall is?”

Sans shrugs. “i think i can make a pretty good guess.”

The human stands up, scooping slush out of the cuffs of her boots. “Okay, that was my fault for assuming, then. Trust Falls are a type of game we have up on the surface.” When she's finished recovering, she draws to Sans and they resume their trek on the outskirts of Snowdin, heading toward Waterfall. She explains further: “Basically it's when a person allows themselves to fall down towards someone, trusting that the other person will catch them so they don't land on the ground and get hurt. It's done a lot at summer camps and stuff. Though, uh,” she reaches to rub the back of her neck, glancing away, “I may have wanted to improvise a little so that instead of falling towards you I’d fall away and you'd catch me by the arm or something.”

He can't help but snicker. “oh, now i see how it is.”

She laughs and nudges him with her elbow. “Shut up, at least I'm not pretending to fall on purpose anymore.”

“i’ll admit you're getting more creative. though, you know you can always just ask. won't be too far of a _stretch_ , in a _twist_ of fate.”

Rolls her eyes, though she's still grinning. “I know, but I figured it would be fun to make a game out of it sometimes. So that being said,” she stops with a crunch to the snow, eyes bright with purpose, “you wanna retry for real now?”

He steps closer. “ok.”

Spreads her arms out. “TRUST FALL!”

_Fwump_.

She finds herself flat on the ground again, covered in snow. Sans looks down at her from above, his teeth pulled into a shit eating grin as he holds back another snicker.

Her jaw drops, affronted. “Seriously?”

“nope, sans.”

Grumbling, she sits up to clean herself off all over again. “Oh my god, you dick.”

He can't hold it back anymore. His shoulders shake, bones rattling. “nope. still sans.”

She grabs a clump of snow and throws it at him, though it falls apart pathetically mid-air. “I thought you were supposed to like hurting me, but it's starting to look like you really just like messing with me.”

Sans watches her for a moment as she fixes herself up, her face flushed and teeth nipping at her bottom lip whenever the icy cold slush sneaks in beneath her clothes and makes her wince, squirming.

He grins. “yup.”

* * *

They eventually reach the outskirts of Snowdin and make their way through Waterfall, where he pranks her at his telescope and she chats amicably with a curious little monster about the mystery of stars. She sheds off a few layers of clothing once the humidity sets in, and Sans pauses to admire the art her arms have accumulated the last few weeks.

He leads her to a little nook-like area, hidden away from the main path with a lone wooden bench offering an excellent view of the sparkling crystals in the facsimile sky. A peaceful tranquility settles over the two of them as she stretches out, listening to the deep, lazy drawl of Sans’ voice as he points out the various pictures and stories Monsterkind has made of the crystal formations over the centuries.

“see those three large ones, kinda making a line? that's the easy way to find ‘king.’ they're meant to be his belt.” He circles a path with a single phalange, and her eyes follow along studiously. “then the seven crystals over here make ‘queen.’” His finger loops and twirls, drawing the outline of a large figure with small horns at the head. “the small group in the middle,” he points, “make ‘prince.’ all together, they make up the constellation called ‘family.’”

She smiles, the lights of the crystal caverns reflecting in her eyes. “You guys weren't kidding when you said your king is really bad at names.”

He goes on to explain how that particular constellation has faded into obscurity over time, and wouldn't be recognized by the common monster nowadays. Constellations and their stories fall in and out of style in the Underground; people look up and see the exact same crystals as everyone else, but the lines their eyes connect create vastly diverse images. It's the only way the newspaper can consistently keep a horoscope section.

For a while they simply relax and enjoy the scenery, sharing small talk and exchanging jokes. But they both know the real reason for coming out here, and eventually she tears her gaze away from a particularly beautiful formation to glance at Sans beside her. She bites her lip, already blushing.

“So…” she starts.

“so,” he agrees.

“I was thinking earlier about trying something different from what we've done so far.” Almost coquettishly, she twirls a finger around a lock of hair by her neck. “Like… pulling my hair?”

There's still a small lilt of nervousness in her voice, despite the fact that they've been doing this sort of thing for some weeks now. Going off on a casual outing, finding a place where they could be alone, carefully exploring this recently discovered mutual fascination between them… it's become a ‘thing’ lately.

They're slowly growing more comfortable as they learn about each other's likes and curiosities, easing out of tiptoeing around each other because they're both unsure how the other would react to this or that, but sometimes she’ll still appear embarrassed whenever she suggests something.

(And he makes sure she is _always_ the one to initiate.)

“yeah?” He draws closer to her, letting her go into more detail--she used to play with her hair a lot and tug on it as a kid, and wonders if she would enjoy it in this context--as she gathers the soft locks behind her head, holding it out in a loose imitation of a ponytail.

“Here,” she takes his hand, “how about you pull from the tail end to start off?”

(Because no matter how much progress they may have achieved together, figuring out her limits…)

He follows her lead and takes a small fistful. He feels her relax a bit, her previous hesitance waning. “like this?”

“Y-yeah…”

“ok.”

(… There is that deep, dark part of him that would _still go further_.)

He yanks, hard.

“Ow!” She winces.

“good ‘ow’ or bad ‘ow’?” Through their curious experimentations over time, he's come to find that there is a genuine difference, with her. He's been trying to learn how to tell them apart. If Sans had to guess just now, that sounded like a…

“Mmm… um, maybe try a little higher up?” She shifts, reaching behind to gently guide his hand closer, almost to her scalp. His knuckles brush against the back of her neck, tresses of soft hair falling between his fingers.

Yeah, ‘bad ow.’ An echo flower several yards away is still quietly repeating her yelp from earlier.

(He has to stay conscious of her limits, because he doesn't even know his.)

“Okay, ready.”

This time when he pulls her hair she lets her head crane back on a low, pleased hum, a little moan in the back of her throat. That's more like it. Sans’ teeth tilts into a grin as he watches her, taking in her reactions.

(Because he doesn't know what he would do if she ever gave him free reign.)

“ _owie_ doin?”

He sees the back of her neck reddening in a flush before she answers in a shy mumble. “You can pull harder.”

(Because if she offered him the universe, his black hole soul would want to mark it, _consume_ it, make it a part of himself and _claim it as his own_.)

“ok.”

Tug.

“Ahh. Harder?”

“ok.”

…

“Harder.”

“ok.”

…

She's laughing, now. “Come on, Sans, I mean like, really hard.”

He chuckles along with her, swallowing a groan. “you're killin’ me here, supernova.”

Suddenly he feels her hair slip from his fingers as she pulls away and turns around, looking at him with a curious expression. “Super-what, now?”

It takes him a moment before Sans realizes he’d spoken that last part aloud. “oh, uh. heh. it's a name, i guess.”

Said namesake blush returns to her features, tickling her smile. “You mean like a nickname?”

The skeleton shifts in his seat, tucking his hands in his pockets before drawing them back out, glancing away. “i guess, yeah.”

It's not enough of an answer for her, so she pries him for an explanation behind the name. At first he jokes and teases, and they exchange banter, but eventually they're counting star-crystals again as he recalls the origin to the name he's been unconsciously referring to her as ever since this whole thing started. The bruise on her leg, the nebula, the catalyst. He moves on to provide more examples.

He reaches for her hair, brushing the locks over her shoulder as he taps the series of small birthmarks scattered across the back of her neck that he spotted earlier. “the pleiades,” he comments.

She's bashful, but a little flattered at the same time. “That almost sounds like a poem or something. You make it sound so beautiful.”

Sans shrugs lightly, reclining back. “guess i figured you’d think it was more creepy than anything.”

“No, I'm…” Stretching, she follows his suit, draping herself and relaxing as she gazes up at the caverns. “... I'm actually really happy you told me that. I feel like I know a little more about how you see the world, y’know?”

* * *

“Y’know,” she begins some time later, as they're making their way back through Waterfall, “there was a human scientist up on the surface, who once said we’re all made of stars. Cause of the law of, uh…”

“conservation of mass,” Sans provides.

“Yeah! So like all of the atoms that make up everything that exists right now, has always existed since there was nothing but stars. I think. I'm not really fluent in this kind of thing.”

“nah, ya got the basic idea down.”

There's a hop in her step, crunching the first layers of snow they meet as they cross over the border to Snowdin. “I should tell that to the monster who was asking us about stars, before.”

Can you touch it? Can you eat it? Can you kill it? Are you a star?

The answer is all of the above.

“Hey, Sans.”

“hm?”

“TRUST FALL!”

_Fwump_.

Hundreds of thousands of millennia ago, a star exploded.

Its materials scattered across space like storm clouds, ripping and fusing over countless eons until its iron settled in a human girl’s blood, all for the sake of spreading that supernova blush across her face as she lays sprawled out in the snow, throwing him another stink eye.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What I had written of chapter four, and a basic summary of the rest of the fic because it’s gotten to the point where I doubt I will ever finish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry. I really am. I’ve gone back to this fic countless times over the last year, and the words just don’t come to me anymore. So since I had a basic idea of how it would end, I figured I’d share what left of the fic I had. Thank you to all who supported me as I wrote this.

The sign flashes neon colors in her eyes as ‘WELCOME TO HOTLAND’ slowly spells out from left to right, leaving her squinting in its brightness. A plume of hot air wafts over her as the human crosses over the boundary between Waterfall and Hotland, already feeling small beads of sweat on her forehead, but she resists the temptation to slip her cardigan off her shoulders. It's made of a sheer thin fabric, purposefully picked out for this exact occasion, and she's resolved not to take it off.

She’s tired of making new stories for every scratch and bruise that appears on her skin.

After passing through the tunnel and gazing down at the molten magma below, she smiles at a group of monster children that cross before her path. They're laughing and cheering for their friend in the middle, whom she recognizes as Monster Kid just before he trips and falls flat on his face. Enigmatically, hot dogs fly everywhere. The group groans and grouses among themselves, and she hears something about a new record as they continue on to the tunnel behind her.

The scene becomes a little less weird later when she comes across Sans reclining in one of his sentry stations-slash-hot dog stands. She raises an eyebrow, sauntering closer before leaning over the counter, propping herself by the elbows.

Sans appears relaxed as always, eyes half lidded and grin set in default. They simply stare at each other for a moment, neither speaking, before he lazily drawls “come here often?”

The corner of her mouth twitches and she smiles back. “Nope. Not at all. But I got invited to this thing over at the MTT Resort, see, friend of mine does stand-up there from time to time and he said something or other about a new routine.” She leans her chin on her wrist, tilting her head as she looks at him levelly. “It's supposed to start soon, but this friend has a habit of being lazy. I’m secretly a little worried I'll have made the trek all the way over to MTT and he won't even show up. That he’s completely forgotten and is really goofing-off at some hot-dog stand somewhere.”

“wow. you need new friends.”

“Hmm… you know? You're right. Well then, looks like I now have a new opening for the position. What do you say? You interested?”

“eh.” He shrugs, exaggerated. “i would, but i’ve got this previous engagement at mtt resort to make and it'll really piss off this human i know if i’m late.”

“Sounds like a real pain, if you ask me.”

“yup.”

Silence falls and they study each other with fixed eyes, but after several seconds she is the first to break her straight face, and drops her head down with a laugh. He joins, chuckling.

“but uh, seriously,” he says, waiting for her giggles to pass, “i haven't forgotten. still got an hour before it starts, and there ain't much preparation involved when your main job is just showin’ up on stage.”

“What,” she teases, “no helping out with setting things up, mopping the floors, arranging the chairs?”

He stares at her for a beat.

“that's hilarious.”

She snorts. “Yeah, watch out or I'll steal your job right from underneath you.” Stretching her arms, she turns around and leans back against the sentry counter by the hips, releasing a pleased breath after bringing them back down and propping her elbows by her sides.

The view is rather nice from their vantage point. The magma rivers flow slowly, simmering, but far away enough that she feels comfortable watching at a distance. It's not a bad sight to waste an extra hour studying.

Then the pervading aroma of his merchandise finally succeeds in pulling her into temptation, as her stomach produces a desperate grumble right at that moment. Embarrassed, she clears her throat. “Well, since I'm here, can I buy a hotdog?”

Sans lifts a brow at her, though he's already reaching for the bag of buns. “sure you'd rather not wait ‘til the show? it _is_ at a restaurant, and all.”

“Yeaaaah, about that.” She visibly winces. “I uh, forgot to make a reservation for my plates and silverware. Just got the chair.”

He laughs, shaking his head in pity as he packs a hotdog into the bun and squirts condiments on it. “a rookie mistake. that'll be 50000g.”

She stares off into the distance, deadpan. “Put it on my tab.”

“wow. just for that, nah,” he shifts, and she feels something plop on the top of her head, “howzabout just on you.”

Slowly, very slowly, she turns her head to stare at him incredulously, being careful to keep the ‘dog balanced. Suddenly the earlier scene with the monster children makes a lot more sense.

“Are you serious. Is this a thing now.”

“yup.”

“And that other hotdog you’re now preparing is for…”

_Plop_.

“Goddamnit, Sans.”

She watches on helplessly as he throws together yet a third ‘dog, frozen in place out of fear of dropping the food from her head and getting condiments all over her clothes. Said condiments serve almost like an adhesive, keeping the growing tower together so long as she stays still.

He’s going for fifth when she interrupts, “Not that I’m not having the time of my life or anything, but uh, what exactly are we doing?”

Sans pauses after making sure the tower stays balanced. “just remembered it’s been awhile since a human was around to try breaking the human head-dog record.”

Flat stare. “And what’s the human head-dog record…?”

He squirts a line of ketchup down the next hotdog, chuckling a small ‘heh’ to himself at the way the plastic bottle makes fart-like noises as he squeezes. “twenty-nine.”

She wheezes. “Twenty--”

“but honestly that's just cuz i draw the line at twenty-nine, see. thirty is simply too much. never let anyone go past that number.” _Plop_. That’s six, now. “so i guess technically there isn’t actually a real record.” Sans offers a wink. “i just like messin’ with ya.”

… Ah.

Her expression twists into its ever familiar stink-eye, ineffective against his grin as always, and for a moment she suddenly decides to follow an act of impulse. Stepping back, she quickly tosses her head, dodging the impending avalanche as hotdogs spill everywhere onto his stand. Ketchup and mustard splatters across, getting some on Sans’ shoes when he tries leaning away.

“aw, c’mon. no one likes a spoilsport.”

Brushing crumbs off her front, she sticks her tongue out playfully. “That’s what you get when you mess with a hungry human. Well,” turning, she throws him a wave over her shoulder, “I’ll see what I can do about dinner around the resort, then. Don’t have too much fun cleaning your mess, or you’ll be late to your own show…!”

She doesn't make it very far when suddenly--

_Click_.

The world freezes. Or maybe it’s just her that's frozen. She releases a startled gasp as she feels herself being tugged back by the soul, the mysterious power gently setting her down right back at the sentry station.

“yeah, nah. i don’t think so.” His voice drops down to a low gravel.

She needs to catch her breath for a moment before she glances at Sans, leaning back in his chair and grinning, before the blue magic in his eye is quickly blinked away. A chill spreads up and down her spine, a feeling startlingly similar to the way she felt whenever they explored with her fascination with pain.

Thing was, Sans didn’t actually hurt her just now.

“you’re not just gonna dine and ditch a pal after makin’ a mess at his job, are ya?” He slowly shakes his head, tutting. “that's cold. and we're in the middle of hotland, so that's really sayin’ something.”

“Y-you…” Throat inexplicably dry, she licks her lips, trying to find words after being thrown so off-balance. Why was her heart beating so fast? Why did she feel so warm in her cheeks? “That… that mess was your fault! I didn't ask for you to put hotdogs on my head!”

“i didn't ask you to drop hotdogs all over my stand,” he replies matter-of-factly. She’s too flustered to think of another retort in time before he adds, “heh. c’mon. just askin’ ya t’ be a friend and help me out. it’ll take quicker.”

Jerking her back with magic was a rather aggressive way of ‘just asking,’ but whatever. Sans does have a point that it would take less time, and it’s not like she actually wants him to be late. She doesn’t let that stop her from giving him a teasing roll of her eyes, though, as she reaches over for the napkins and begins swiping at the station counter.

“hey, woah, hold on a sec.”

She stops, growing a little exasperated. “Now what?”

“i wanted to get some cleaning done, yeah, but i didn’t say anything about wasting all that ketchup and mustard,” he explains, staring at her levelly.

A pregnant pause passes between them as she looks at him quizzically, before he slowly reclines back and draws a leg up to cross over his knee, as if to punctuate. It takes her a few more moments to arrive on the uptake, as her eyes land on the blops of condiments scattered over his sneakers, and her jaw drops. The last time he had said something similar about wasting spilled ketchup was after he…

Her eyes meet back with his, the little pinpricks glinting almost mischievously in their sockets.

“... Somehow I have a feeling you’re not saying that you want to be the one licking it up,” she starts, tentative.

His grin only grows all the wider, the sharp angle of his canines peaking out in a way that sends a small shiver down her spine. It leaves a rather strange sense of anticipation hanging in the air, a feeling impossible to explain.

It’s nearly identical to the moment she holds her breath right before Sans inflicts the first mark upon her in one of their ‘sessions.’

As the thought crosses her mind, the skeleton monster beckons her closer with a purposeful flick of a finger, before pointing it down to the space before him.

“come here, supernova.”

\--

She makes her way through the restaurant on unsteady legs, reaching for the back of her chair as soon as she arrives at the reserved table and falling into her seat, staring ahead in a daze. If there's anyone giving her strange looks, she doesn't notice.

( _The silence hangs in the air for several seconds after his command, seizing her somewhere in the area behind her chest. He holds her gaze intently, and she feels that oh-so familiar tingle starting in her fingertips, ghosting up her arms, bleeding across her face. She opens her mouth, closes it. Swallows._

_He only calls her that name when they're having one of their ‘sessions.’_ )

One of the local bands is scheduled for a show right before Sans’ newest stand up routine and they play with a lively vigor she can’t compare to any other on the surface, however much of it passes through her system unnoticed, unable to wrench the human’s attention away from the memories that currently occupy her. Fiddling with the small folded card that displays her name, her leg bounces in an off-beat as her eyes flit over to the side of the stage every once in awhile.

( _It's almost Pavlovian, the way her knees weaken and she kneels before him at the sound of that nickname. Damn him. He probably knows exactly what that does to her._

_Judging by the glint in his eye when she prostrates herself, yeah._

_And yet, she feels an undeniable thrill, an itch that desires to know just how far he would take this._ )

None of the monster waiters stop by her table. They only need glance to her spot to know she didn’t reserve any plates and glasses, and dutifully leave her be.

( _Sans always lets her take the lead whenever they explore their weird sadomasochistic symbiotic relationship. She requests and he follows through._ )

Eventually the band finishes its last tune, an upbeat swing that left many bobbing their heads, and begins to pack up once the lights cut off. As they shuffle off from the stage, a new figure appears from the other side. She immediately feels herself tense, watching the shadowed form saunter to the center stage and reach for the lone microphone that had been left there for the next act. It’s still far too tall for him, and she catches the shift of a jaw in his shadow as he murmurs, adjusting the height so that the mic falls easily down to his level.

Then the lights flash on again, and Sans grins down at his audience.

( _So, she wonders to herself idly, eyes rolling up to watch him as she leans forward to lick his goddamn shoes just because it was demanded of her--_

_Does her thing with pain extend to humiliation?_ )

He jumps right into his new routine, having no need to introduce himself to the regulars or find purchase with a segue. Everyone knows him.

“been on a diet lately,” he starts, shrugging with his hands comfortably in his hoodie pockets. “my bro’s idea. said i was gaining too much weight and needed to lose at least a stone. so i figured hey, why not--and sure enough, i did.” He pauses. “haven’t seen my pet rock ever since.”

It turns out to be literally the only joke she gets throughout the act. Funny thing about discovering a society and culture nearly untouched by humans for countless years--they live under your head, and their jokes go over it. Sans proceeds to tell more anecdotes, pausing before throwing in a non sequitur every once in awhile and leaving her out of the proverbial loop, as monsters all around her roar with titters and other sounds that pass for the human equivalent of laughter. She chuckles along politely, but her thoughts are filled with nothing but a lot of “???”

About half an hour in Sans delivers a punchline that leaves nearly the entire audience in stitches, but then to her horror a monster suddenly stands up and chucks a _tomato_ at him. It splats at the side of his skull, slowly slipping down before landing at his untied shoes with a gross squelching noise.

The restaurant is silent for one still moment. Then another monster from somewhere behind her throws _their_ tomato, and soon the stage is littered with squashed red goop, most slapping Sans’ front as he merely stands there, taking it all in stride with his infamous grin.

She picks her jaw up off the floor when she feels someone taking her wrist and putting something in her fingers. Glancing down, she finds a tomato. The monster from her neighboring table flashes her a smile. “Saw you forgot to reserve yours,” they explain. “It’s on me.”

“Um?”

But the monster goes back to tossing their own, leaving her to stare back at the scene in bewilderment. It goes on for what feels like hours, until finally it seems the last is chucked, finishing off with a bang by nailing the skeleton right in the eye socket and sticking its landing. The crowd cheers, and Sans takes a bow.

“thank you everyone, you’ve been a lovely audience tonight.”

The last thing she sees before the curtains close over him is Sans throwing a quick wink with the eye socket that didn't have an entire tomato lodged in it in her direction.

\--

She sits there dumbly as the stage crew cleans up the floor and the next band sets up and starts to play. Eventually she's jolted out of her reverie by someone taking the tomato out of her hands, and she turns to see a cleaned-up Sans pulling a chair out and sitting across from her.

“aw, didn't like the show?” he asks.

“What?” Her brows furrow. “Sorry, but I am really confused right now.”

“‘bout what?” Sans starts spinning the tomato on the tip of his finger like a basketball.

She picks at a loose thread on her cardigan. “Well back where I'm from, you usually throw tomatoes at a performance you _didn't_ like. People also say ‘boo.’ So when you were suddenly being pelted by tomatoes, I thought that meant everyone hated it?”

He stops spinning, letting the tomato drop back into his palm as he laughs. “heh, oh. i see where the confusion comes from. humans, am i right? nah, that's pretty much the opposite down here. getting tomatoes thrown at ya is pretty much the epitome of a compliment for a comedian.”

*******************************************************

And here’s is where I’ve left off.

At this point there were supposed to have been more flashbacks to licking Sans’ shoes, her face beet red and feeling so hot it’s almost stifling. Reflecting on how ‘Supernova’ has become something like a trigger word for her that instantly gets her into a submissive headspace. Sans just watches her silently and there’s this weird tension where they’re both very clearly aroused by the situation but neither address it because it has nothing to do with physical pain or their sessions, so. A lot of UST.

Back in the present Sans takes a bite out of the tomato and Supernova wonders if that’s where he got his love of ketchup from, but then the red tomato juice starts dripping down Sans’ sharp teeth and jaw and Supernova squirms in her seat, her mind replacing the red juice with something else.

The picture gives her enough courage to ask Sans if he wants to come back to her place afterwards, very obviously implying to have another pain session, and Sans says yes.

They eventually make it back to her place, which is almost equally as trashy as Sans’ room, with her laundry strewn about and trash piled up, but not quite at the tornado stage yet. Maybe their shared sloppiness is one of the reasons why they got along together so well. Supernova leads him to the edge of her bed since she doesn’t have any chairs and they go through the motions, keeping it cautious with a few pinches. But it’s obvious they’re both thinking about the shoe licking thing and more UST abound. Eventually Supernova gathers the courage to tell Sans there’s something else she’s been wanting to try lately, and he asks what.

She wants him to bite her.

She first holds out her wrist for him and he takes it gingerly. He hesitates, probably a lot of internal dialogue about holding back and letting her take the reins, and eventually slowly sinks his teeth into her and ohh, _that was a good ‘ow.’_ Insert lots of flowery prose about space and shit. He doesn’t breech her skin and there’s no blood, but he can feel her heart beating against his teeth. They’re both super into it, and Supernova wants more. When he pulls back, he asks in a gravelly voice where she wants him to bite her next. She doesn’t voice it, just dazedly cranes her head to the side and displays her neck, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. He shifts closer, practically crawling into her lap for better leverage as he bites her neck, much harder, drawing blood. He tastes it and they both moan. He bucks his hips into her lap, and then suddenly pulls away when he realizes what he did. Practically humped her. Mortified, he stutters over an apology and gives a half-assed excuse to leave and stumbles into her closet instead of the front door. But when Supernova peers inside, he’s already disappeared.

SO THEN CHAPTER FIVE

Was going to start with Sans avoiding Supernova for the last several days. Their little pain sessions was never agreed to be something sexual so he thinks she’s disgusted with him etc. But she’s not, she’s really, really not. She tries finding him at every turn and eventually is finally able to confront him. They have a long discussion about what they’re doing and what, exactly, they do it for. I’m an idiot and barely wrote anything at this stage in my original outline for the fic so now I can’t remember how I originally intended this all to go, by I know they were going to finally communicate and at some point Sans was going to say something like “sex wasn’t what you originally signed up for” and Supernova says “ok then where’s the line for me to sign up???”

And then they have sex.

I was going to title the chapter “The Big Bang.”

There was going to be ecto dick and bruises and Supernova urging Sans to just LET GO and take the reins and do whatever he really wanted to her and trust me, it was going to be hot, okay. He was going to go full tentacle hentai on her while staring down at her from above with this delightfully sadistic grin and impressive glowing bulge sporting his shorts. At one point tentacles hit her cervix and he pulls back when she cries out; not all pain is good pain. He knows a bad ‘ow’ when he hears it. He wipes a tear from her eye with a tentacle and she turns and nuzzles against it. Something strange flutters in his soul that isn't sadism. Lots of body worship on both sides and in post coitus there’s fluff where he blows a raspberry against her neck because he can’t resist making fart noises, or making her laugh.

It would all end on a good, happy note. Probably with more fancy space prose. And puns. Lots of puns.


End file.
